


Remembrance

by disdainfreely



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Gen, Mourning Rituals, Presumed character death, Spoilers for season 2 episode 1, mando culture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-31
Updated: 2020-10-31
Packaged: 2021-03-08 21:02:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 802
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27293134
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/disdainfreely/pseuds/disdainfreely
Summary: Spoilers for Season 2 Episode 1Mandalorians have strict mourning rituals. Din tries to adhere to them when he can.
Comments: 14
Kudos: 195





	Remembrance

**Author's Note:**

> I saw the episode and immediately had to write this. I'm a sucker for Mando culture.

“Ni su'cuyi, gar kyr'adyc, ni partayli, gar darasuum,” Din murmurs. The words are unpracticed in his mouth, hesitant, as he carefully runs the cloth over the armor. The paint is chipping off, and Din doesn’t have any paint to match it. It’s beskar, and it shouldn’t be tainted with damaged paint anyway. He sighs and looks over at his own armor, carefully removed and stacked against his bunk. He could never imagine any aruetii wearing his helmet, his face, out in the galaxy. 

The child is sleeping peacefully, so Din can get out the chemicals he needs to strip the paint from the metal. He’s careful as he does it, delicate in a way that beskar doesn’t require but it more than deserves. He doesn’t know the vod who wore this armor, doesn’t know how long they’ve been dead and gone, but he’s sure that no vod would ever stand to see their armor like this, so battered and dented. The Marshall may have kept the armor functional, but he didn’t care for it. Not really. 

“I’m sorry I don’t know your name,” Din tells the helmet once he’s managed to strip the paint off and finally clean it. The beskar glints in the ship’s low light and Din rests a careful hand on the dome, brushing his thumb over the deep dent. “Is this what killed you?” 

The metal gives no reply. 

Din picks up the chestplate. He runs his hands over the beaten metal, feeling the scrapes and gouges of hard-fought battles. Some of them undoubtedly came from the Marshal, but Din can read armor, if not as well as the Armorer. He knows some of these are at least a decade old. They have to be, the way it’s tarnished. 

“Clan Fett?” Din carefully traces the sigil on the chestplate, faded and chipped as it is. “Did you know your most famous hunter?” He hesitates for a long moment. “Do you have any clanmates to be returned to?”

He doesn’t know what’s to be done with armor if it doesn’t have a clan to go back to. The Armorer will know. If he had to guess, he’d say it would likely go the foundlings. 

He’s just glad it’s not his responsibility to guess.

He carefully cleans the beskar, scrubbing away of years of grime and scratched paint. He hesitates at the clan Fett symbol. Should he leave it? Should he leave this last symbol of the clan, of the family of this vod? Bare fingers trace around the very edges of what’s left before Din sighs and swipes the cloth over it. If the beskar is returned to the Fett clan, its new wearer can repaint the symbol if they want it. 

There’s no insignia on the armor, no beskar mark of honor. Either this vod never earned one, or their clanmates didn’t have the beskar to spare. He finishes the cleaning the chestplate and moves on to the shoulder armor. There’s not much armor as part of this set. Lost pieces? A lightly armored vod? 

Maybe the clan didn’t have any more beskar, and the rest of the armor was durasteel. 

If this vod was even with their clan. Din’s heard of more than a few lone vode, hunters without a pack to back them up. It’s dangerous, lonely work.

A soft coo startles him from his musings. Din looks over to see that the ad’ika has woken up and is blinking up at him from his pram.

“Come here.” Din scoops the child onto his lap and immediately has to scoot the cleaning chemicals away when tiny green hands unerringly reach for them. “No, not those.” 

The child seems to consider his options before reaching for the freshly cleaned helmet. Din doesn’t stop him this time. 

“This is beskar, ad’ika. Like mine.” The child seems content to touch the metal, focusing on the scratches and dents. “When we find beskar, it is our duty to bring it back to the clan where it belongs. This armor belongs to our vod, whoever they are. And we have to give them last rites, since we’re the ones here.” Din wraps his arms around the child and holds him to his chest. “Ni su'cuyi, gar kyr'adyc, ni partayli, gar darasuum, vod of clan Fett.” 

He wishes he had their name. He wishes he had something for them, some memory to hold onto, to reassure this nameless vod that they are remembered by someone.

He doesn’t have any of that. He closes his eyes and takes a breath.

He will add this vod to the Remembrance, with the rest of the covert who was killed, with his buir who’s long dead, with Kuiil.

“This is the Way.”

_I'm still alive, but you are dead._

__

__

_I remember you, so you are eternal._


End file.
